by S. L. Scott
“Keaton and I are not together, Danny. I wouldn’t have been with you if we were.”
“Then what the fuck was that about? He has a key and apparently uses it when he pleases.”
“I’ve tried to get it back from him. He wouldn’t before, but I got it now.”
“You got it because I was about to pummel him.” He’s frustrated pulling the beanie onto his head. He walks past me. “I don’t want to fight with him. I haven’t been in a fistfight in years, but I’ll tell you I was close. Very fucking close. But I don’t give a shit about him. I care about you and I don’t want to fight with you either.”
“Let’s not then.” I follow him back into the kitchen. Berries are all over the counter, a reminder of how good it was a short time ago.
He turns toward me, his back to the door. “If I stay, we will. I need to cool down and I can’t in here, not with you.”
“What are you saying, Danny? Are you mad at me?”
“Blindsided. I don’t know what’s going on and I’m upset. So yes, I’m mad at you.”
“You have no right to be mad at me. I didn’t ask him to come over.”
“I need time to sort through this so I don’t take it out on you. I’m being honest with you so I don’t make it worse. If I stay, it will get worse.”
My heart is pounding in pain and I feel betrayed. Why did I drop my guard for him? “Honest? Now you’re honest with me? Wow,” I say, my pride making me snarky.
“What does that mean?”
“You know what that means. You weren’t honest with me back when we were together, but now you spout off about how important honesty is to you?” I scoff. “Well, I’m glad you’ve grown a conscience.”
A look of disbelief crosses his face. “I’m leaving, that’s something you should be familiar with.”
“Screw you!”
He turns and unlocks the bolts I thought were protecting us from the outside world. It seems maybe we need protection from each other. He opens the door and keeping his back to me, he says, “I’ll see you at the shoot.”
The door closes and with full fury I pound against it with both of my fists. I turn my back on it and slide down, closing my eyes as I bring my knees to my chest. I wish I could stop the tears, but there’s this place deep inside that only Danny Weston can reach and he just ripped it open.
Again.
CHAPTER 25
~Reese~
SLEEP DOESN’T COME. I sit near the window I paid so proudly for a year ago, but the view has lost its luster. Sitting here feeling his loss reminds me of the last time I lost Danny…
My bags are packed, suitcase by the door, backpack at my feet. It took me days to get everything in order, all leading up to today. I push the play button once more to listen to the voicemail message Danny sent yesterday when I was out.
“I’m coming home tomorrow. We need to talk. Be at the apartment at six. See you soon.”
No I miss you. No I love you. Just we need to talk.
Modeling has taken over his life, and my life has become a side effect to the life he left behind. I knew we’d go through a change, transitioning from seeing each other all day, every day, to every few days or even a week. But I could have never predicted the last year we struggled through. Or maybe it was only me who’s been struggling.
I haven’t seen him in over a month. Paris, Milan, Rome. Everywhere but here for five weeks. He doesn’t even know I found a job in New York City. Our time on the phone is too limited to mention such things going on in my life when his life is so exciting. So big. Mine feels small in comparison. I feel small—small time, small town, a part of a small past. His small past.
I really thought I’d get to tell him face to face. Been desperate to see his reaction, his pride. His anything for me. Missed calls, out-of-sync schedules, and unpredictable email service all add to the list of obstacles keeping us apart. The leading factor is Danny becoming an overnight sensation in the modeling world. That boy next-door meets the sexy alpha male are names he’s often called. My hands fist and I tamp my annoyance that I could have told them that. But my thoughts don’t matter. I don’t matter in that world, his world.
I grab the stack of magazines from the dining table and drop them one by one on the coffee table in front of me. Each one taunting me with an ad of him and some model or models that all look too cozy for my comfort.
If that were me cozying up to male models, he would not be happy. He would not be okay seeing other men touching me.
I’m bitter. Life here has become unbearable. They took him, the man I love, and made him a star. The magazines can’t get enough of him. The designers all want him, but so do I. So much. I miss him. I miss the way we used to hang out all night and talk. I miss his arms around me. I miss going to bed with him and waking up to him kissing my breasts, rousing me from sleep.
There’s no doubt he’ll be packing his stuff soon enough and moving away. I’m the only thing holding him to Nebraska. It’s time I let him go. I’m tired of feeling second best to a career. I’m tired of the tabloids, and seeing him at the center of it all. I’m tired of seeing him with other women.
And then the message came while I was at the library.
We need to talk… We need to talk… We need to talk…
I don’t care about his job. I care about him, but he’s lost who he was and now he’s willing to lose me. Dump. Me.
Our friends, my family, everyone tells me I have to let him go so he can pursue his dream. While my dream of getting married, having kids, and career are sidelined. We’re on two different paths going in two different directions. I’ll get moved to New York and give him my address as soon as I have one. Maybe with me pursuing my career things will be better. Maybe he’ll find me interesting again.
My breath comes rapidly and shortens. How am I doing this? How am I leaving the only man I’ve ever loved? With the last bit of strength I have, I stand taller and lock the door. He needs to see what it’s like to be lonely. He needs to understand how much he’s hurt me. This will wake him up. He’ll miss me. He’ll miss me I just know it. I pray that we can work through this again. With me in Manhattan, the stars have aligned if we can work it out.
So a year after his career took off, I stand in the doorway, saying goodbye to our… his place forever with his, “We need to talk” ringing in my ears. I say goodbye to this lonely place and leave, just like he left me behind.
I can’t lose him again. By five a.m., I get dressed for work and by six I’m out the door. I decide I’d rather lose myself in my job than sit here losing myself to the hurt I’m feeling.
Walking through the lobby, the overnight doorman, Dave, is leaving his shift, so we walk together. “You worked all night again?”
He says, “Ralph’s still sick. I worked half his shift and mine. It’s not a party building so I got a few naps in. But don’t worry, the doors were locked.”
“That’s good.”
“Don’t tell the boss.”
I laugh. “I won’t.”
I know he’s only making casual conversation, like the weather, but when he says, “That was mighty nice of your friend to visit yesterday.”
“Yes, it was,” I reply, not wanting more tears to surface before I even reach the street.
“Judging by how long he waited and those flowers, I’d say you have quite the admirer.”
I stop walking just before we reach the door. “The flowers were very nice, but out of curiosity, how long did he wait?”
“I didn’t time him or anything,” he says, shrugging, “but it was a good three hours. At least.”
“Three hours?” Danny’s words come back to me—No, not long. “Wow, that is a long time. I didn’t know.”
“I just thought he deserved the credit.” He walks out, holding the door for me. “Have a good day, Ms. Carmichael.”
“Thanks, Dave, and call me Reese.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Have a good day.”
I re
main on the street, and when I look where I’m standing, it was here. Right here. Twelve hours ago, this is where Danny changed our course. This is where he made me see what was right in front of me in Nebraska, what I knew in Marfa. He made me realize that he’s been the missing piece to making my heart whole again. The tears come as I pull my phone from my purse. The screen lights up as I open it. I call Danny, praying he’ll answer.
My heart starts hurting even more when the third ring chimes. By the fourth, his voicemail kicks in along with regret. So much regret. I should have never let him leave. Under any other circumstances, I would hang up. But this time, this time for him, I’ll swallow my pride and pain and leave a message for him to call me. After I hang up, I stay there as if my feet don’t want to leave the good in the past.
That’s what I’ve been doing all along. With Danny. With our relationship. The bad is so easy to remember, the good forgotten in the memories. But there was so much good. We were good. Standing there I realize I barely remember the bad anymore and yet, I’ve held it against him. Why?
I stare at my phone, hoping it rings. I assume he’s sleeping, somehow able to when I couldn’t. A small comfort comes over me. He’ll have clearer thoughts. He’ll see me more clearly and want to come back, come back to me and just… just be together again.
When I look up I realize I know where he is booked to stay this trip. My arm flies into the air to hail a cab. At this hour, it’s easy to get one. I direct the driver to Ninth Avenue in the Meatpacking District. With my phone still in my hand, I lean back as I run everything I want to say to him on rotation so I can cover everything needed.
I pay the driver and head in through the revolving doors. It’s still early, not even 6:45. The lobby is empty of guests and only one person is behind the counter. With a broad smile, she says, “Welcome to the Gansevoort. Checking in?”
“No, I’m here to see a guest. Danny Weston.” My fingers begin tapping on the counter as I lean against it anxiously. “Can you call him for me?”
Her smile falls. “We don’t normally disturb our guests at this hour. Is Mr. Weston expecting you?”
“No, but I need to speak with him right away please.” I throw the please in with a slight plea, but nothing is going to get her to make that call. I can tell by how tight her lips have become as she types on her keyboard.
“I’m sorry. His room is set to do not disturb.” She puts a pad of paper and pen down on the counter and slides it toward me. “Would you like to leave a message?”
“Can I wait here?” I ask, pointing to the seating area by the window.
“Yes.”
I walk over and sit down, setting the phone on the coffee table in front of me and stare at it.
One hour…
Two hours…
He waited three.
I’m willing to wait longer, but my phone rings and I jump, startled by the sound. Keaton. I gulp down my disappointment and brace myself for this conversation. It’s one I need to have and as I start thinking about it, it’s one I should probably have before having one with Danny.
“Hello?”
“Get to the office, Reese.”
“Don’t talk to me like that.”
“As your boss, I can talk to you however I want to.”
“I’m working from home today.”
“You’re fucking him at home today, forgetting that your job is waiting for you to start your day. Or do you not care about your job anymore?”
“You know I care, Keaton. I care more than you’ll ever give me credit for.”
“That’s not true. I gave you Vittori, which is the same as giving you credit. Now get to the office. We need to talk.”
Swallowing becomes hard as I give him more than he deserves. “I said I would and we can.” Looking around the lobby that’s much busier and getting louder, I say, “I’ll meet you in your office in an hour.”
“Forty-five minutes, Reese. Don’t be late.”
He feels more powerful by taking fifteen minutes off the hour like that but I’m not in the mood to argue. I’m sure I’ll be doing plenty of that in forty-five minutes.
I stand up and throw my purse over my shoulder. Walking around the rotating door just as a man enters the other side and pushes, I look up. Danny. The door stops trapping us both on opposite sides with no way to exit. He moves his finger in the air to show me he’s going to push us around. When the opening is to the sidewalk, I walk out and look back, but he’s gotten out in the lobby.
My shoulders drop as he puts his hand out to stay, and then comes out the other door, skipping the revolving one.
Before he can say anything, I blurt, “I’m sorry.”
He looks surprised.
I continue, “I’m sorry for everything. For my ex showing up, really sorry for that. For not sharing more of my life with you. For making you feel that you’re not as important as my career when it scares me how you already are, and always were. I’m sorry for not calling you in the last ten years, and I’m more sorry for not meeting you that day. I could have given you a million reasons why I didn’t back then, but today… today I stand before you not able to remember any that were worth losing you, and regretting them anyway.”
“Reese, stop.” His tone is somber.
And just like that my hope plummets.
He doesn’t want me anymore.
Stepping forward, he takes my hand. My heart beats painfully in my chest. “Reese, you don’t have to apologize for the past or the in-between. That’s exactly what it is—the past. We can’t change it. But last night, I don’t get into fights. I don’t date other men’s girlfriends or wives despite what the tabloids say about me.”
“I’m not dating him.”
“I know. I know because you told me.” His grip tightens and he pulls me closer. “I want you to tell me everything about you. I want us to know each other like we used to.”
Tears prick my eyes for different reasons this time. “You do?”
“I do.” He wipes my tears just as they fall. “I want you to know the real me, the me now.” Chuckling, he says, “I may be an ass for all you know.”
“You may be an ass after I get to know you too.”
His laughter draws out mine as we joke, skirting around the deeper emotions we’re feeling for each other. I drop my head against his chest and wrap my arms around him. I feel his strength as he holds me just as tightly. A kiss is placed on top of my head and I close my eyes, inhaling him.
Deep down I know he was already there, inside my heart all along. “I’m sorry for last night.”
“Just so you know, I was willing to kick his ass for you.”
With a smile on my face, I whisper, “I know. But just so you know, I was willing to kick his ass for you too.”
I feel his chest moving. The feel of his happiness makes me happy. When I look up, he says, “I’m sorry for leaving last night.”
“I understand.”
He lifts my chin so I look up again. “I mean it, Reese. I shouldn’t have left. I don’t want to justify it, but I was angry—at him, at you, and at myself. I knew I’d take it out on you if I didn’t leave. That’s the last thing I wanted to do because I know you didn’t have anything to do with him being there.”
I back up so we can talk face to face. “Look, Danny, we left things unfinished ten years ago, but I feel the connection I always had with you. I think you feel the same—”
“I do.”
Needing to touch him again, to feel his warmth envelop me, I curve my fingers around his. “When I’m with you, I feel like my old self, the person I wish I was.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m someone who lost their way.”
His fingers tighten around mine. “Find your way back to me.”
“I’m trying.” The clock is ticking. I adjust my purse, and say, “I want to, so badly, but I need to close some doors before opening this one. Out of respect for you, and for myself.”
He looks curious, b
ut doesn’t ask. He knows. When he hugs me again, he knows. “Come back to me.”
“I promise. As soon as I can get away.” I pull back and start trying to leave when all I want to do is stay. Job and career be damned. I never had anything worth giving it up for before now. “Bye, Danny.”
“I’ll be waiting for you. I’m in room 1455.”
He stays there on the sidewalk—smile on his face, hands in pockets, looking perfectly edible. I give one last little wave and hail a cab.
* * *
STANDING OUTSIDE KEATON’S office with two minutes to spare. I wait three and then knock. This little joy makes me smile.
When I hear him tell me to come in, I open the door and walk in feeling a renewed confidence in myself. I walk to the desk and when he tents his fingers in contemplation, I start in, “We are no longer a couple. You will not treat me as if I am, as if you have any right to know anything about me personally. You don’t. You are my employer, nothing more.”
“Sit down, Reese,” he says, getting comfortable in his large leather chair.
When I sit, he adds, “As your employer, I own your ass from eight to five. Anytime you’re on site representing one of my accounts, I own you. If you’re with clients on my dime, I own you. Taking the expense report you submitted yesterday into account, I apparently own you more than two hundred hours a month.”
I don’t like where this is going. A sickening clots my veins listening to him stake any claim he can over me. “That’s all you have. Nothing more. No more, Keaton.”
“That’s all I need. We’re done here. Shut the door after you leave.”
Staring at him, his attention is back on his monitor as if I’m not still here. I get up and head to the door without another word, not because I agree with him, but because I can’t be bothered with him. I’ll spend this week sending out my résumé.
When I get to my desk, there’s a pile of envelopes on top. They have all been opened, so I pull the heavy cardstock out and read the first one.